


Drop Them Bones! Baby, Sell That Soul!

by Rednaelo



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottoming from the Top, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Drabble, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, consensual drug use, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: Some theoretical person somewhere in the universe is actually a huge cockslut and has never brought it up with his not-boyfriend-definitely-just-fuckbuddy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caedrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caedrea/gifts).



> the point is that i just wanted to write rhack SOMEHOW. so i worked at it for a while and this is all i got.
> 
> who needs context? make up whatever context sounds good to you.
> 
>  
> 
> [some rhythmic rockabilly to have a good, nasty fuck to](https://youtu.be/2XjqGn2VsIE)
> 
>  
> 
>  -Bec

Jack pushes the pill into Rhys’ mouth with two fingers.  Slides it all the way to the back of his tongue and kisses that pale throat when Rhys swallows.

“And this, chase it down,” Jack says, folding Rhys’ fingers around the half-empty bottle of gin.

“You can’t convince me it’s okay to mix these,” Rhys says and drinks anyway.  Chugs it, even.  Jack could kiss him: the boy doesn’t bat an eyelash and obeys.   Jack does kiss him.  Pushes away the mouth of the bottle and gives Rhys his own.  He tastes sharp and piney.  Juniper flavored.  His dick is still hard and hot against Jack’s thigh and Jack rocks just enough to keep Rhys’ attention focused.  They’re cum-sticky and the church is full of stagnant air that’s beginning to smell less like dust and old char and more like the sweltering slap of naked flesh coming together, sweating booze and staining the altar.

Jack weaves his every finger into Rhys’ hair and tugs it back so he can watch those mismatched eyes go twirling like catseye marbles when the drugs take.

“What’d you give me?” Rhys asks, as lucid as he might cling to, not knowing that Jack is eating the words off his lips, one bite after another, scraping teeth.

“You trust me, don’t you, sweetheart?” Jack slips his tongue underneath Rhys’ and squeezes the bottle of lube too hard.  His hand is soaked.  He goes with it, anyway; two fingers pressing against his own hole to push in.  It’s too rough and Jack bites Rhys’ jaw before the boy can droolingly answer him.

“Ow, ow….  Asshole….”  Skinny arms wrap around Jack’s shoulder, knees hitching up over Jack’s hips.  Baby boy thinks he’s gonna take papa’s cock again.  “Don’t let me die.”

That’s good enough answer for Jack.  He smiles against Rhys’ ear and fingers himself, rutting their cocks together.  Trying to.  It’s hard when you don’t actually have a free hand to hold them together.  Jack’s hands are busy holding himself up and stretching his ass open as quick as he can.  Before Rhys notices.

“Not like this, kiddo, I promise,” Jack mumbles, his words slurring together.  Some of the consonants might come out wrong.  No one notices. 

Rhys’ grip starts going slack and he slips all the way back until his shoulders are resting on the ratty, scorched altar cloth.  His eyes are rolling back in his head.  There’s a sunburn-colored flush all over his chest and across his cheeks.  His head lolls back and forth like he doesn’t know how to hold it and Jack watches him while he holds up Rhys’ cock and squats over it, bearing down to push him in.

He didn’t stretch enough.  It burns going in but Jack’s not gonna quit now.  His own dick throbs, and the alcohol in his blood can’t dilute the fact that he’s doing it, he’s finally doing it, he’s got Rhys’ cock inside him.  Jack lets his head fall back and his chest heaves hard to breathe while he pushes himself lower. 

“God, oh god, fuck, fuucckkk….”

“Jack…Jack, oh fuck, is that….”

Jack pushes his fingers back into Rhys’ mouth and he shuts up and sucks like a good boy, letting Jack have his time to do this right. 

It’s only been fingers and toys this whole time and now he’s got his cherry popped for good by little Rhysie….  Jack looks down at his incoherent, slobbering stud muffin and smiles, licking his lips.

“Think I love you, you pretty little jackass,” Jack coos at him.  He meant for it to sound condescending but he hears himself and swallows hard around the attempt to pull the words – the sincerity – back inside.  One dizzy little marble of Rhys’ eye looks up.  Jack doesn’t let him realize what happened; he shifts onto his knees and pulls up before shoving himself right back down onto Rhys’ dick.

“Unnngghhhh,” is all Rhys has to say.

Jack couldn’t agree more.

He bounces for a while, taking a slow, almost mechanical pattern of kneeling up and letting gravity slap him right back down.  It’s a lot of work, especially with one hand still trying to linger in Rhys’ mouth – uncoordinated tongue slipping between his fingers, swollen lips sucking, nasty noises and embarrassing gags and coughs following up unabashed moans.  Then Jack just settles himself on Rhys’ hips and starts rocking.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so much better,” he sighs, getting the pressure in just the right spot. He wraps his hand – it’s still got more than enough lube to matter – around his cock and takes a slow pace.  God, he wants this to last.  Rhys’ dick isn’t enormous (it’s perfect, it’s perfect, that’s all Jack can think about) but it fills Jack up _just right._ Like there’s nothing missing anymore.

Except….  Well.

“God, I love your dick,” Jack pants while he fucks himself. “Your fucking dick feels so good inside me, Rhysie.  I wish I could have your stupid fucking dick in my ass and my mouth at the same time. I want you to fill me up with every drop of cum you have in your skinny…little…body!  Ughhhh, fuck, that’s the spot, that’s it, that’s it, ohhhh, fuckkkkk!”

At some point, Jack takes his fingers out of Rhys’ mouth and absently brings them to his own face, to his mouth, building up his pace on Rhys’ cock and answering it with his hand around his own erection.  Between his hips, the pleasure stacks like bubbles shaken underneath the squeezed cork of a champagne bottle.  And Jack knows he’s gonna pop any second and that’s actually when the celebration is gonna end, not begin.

“Not yet,” he grunts out, though, “not yet!”

And it practically makes him scream to take his hand off his cock but he does it anyway, willing his orgasm down so he can have another minute, another two minutes, with Rhys’ cock stretching him out, fucking against his prostate, milking the cum right out of him.  There’s a puddle of it on Rhys’ cute, reddish happy trail and more of it slicking up Jack’s hand.

“Jack,” Rhys sighs out.  And Jack doesn’t have time to demand what the fuck Rhys is doing before Rhys gets his feet flat on the altar, grips Jack by the elbows and starts _slamming_ into him.

“Fuck!” Jack cries out as his world goes white for a searing second.  Rhys’ fingers are bruising him and his rhythm is syncopated with Jacks but when they hit the beat together, Jack swears he can see another spurt of cum fly out to hit Rhys’ chin.  Boy’s got the tip of his tongue sticking out like he does when he’s bent over his programming work.  Like Jack is this problem he’s gonna crack.  And then he’ll get that precious little smirk when he knows he’s got it all figured out.

Maybe Jack will see that smirk if he comes.  He wants it but he doesn’t want it and what he really wants is to choke this asshole and also maybe kiss him until they both can’t breathe anymore.

Stronger drugs next time, he tells himself while his cock bounces and dribbles and his mental coherency scrabbles for whatever foothold it can keep.

Or maybe leave the drugs off next time, some other idiotic part of Jack’s brain suggests.  Which is a terrible idea until Jack’s imagination presents him with the image of Rhys folding Jack’s body in two, putting Jack’s knees over his shoulders and fucking him until he comes on his own face.

Rhys gives repeated thrusts up into Jack and Jack comes, cursing in ecstatic panic, caught off guard by every angle and making a goddamn mess while he screams and Rhys grins, chasing after that orgasm with his cock twitching, spilling inside of Jack’s squeezing hole.  The smirk is gone after just a second.  His O-face was always the prettiest look on him.

 

Much fucking later, after Jack drags them back to Helios, on a night when they tangle like idiots on the couch without needing any alcohol to get them there, Rhys asks about the night on Boot Hill.  When Jack doesn’t answer him (doesn’t want to, doesn’t know how to, won’t) Rhys just says,

“You should let me call you Daddy while I fuck you.”

And Jack clamps his teeth hard over the hickey he left on Rhys’ neck the night before - loving the gasp he gets - and puts his lips to Rhys’ ear.

“Do it, pumpkin.  Make Daddy come.”

So he does it.


End file.
